


Letters Unwritten

by KatG



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dear John Letter, Writing is my therapy, venting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-12-27 18:17:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21123167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatG/pseuds/KatG
Summary: All the things I will never say to you.





	1. Dear A.S.

Dear A.S.,

I don't even know where to start or where to end with you. Fuck, you did a number on me. And maybe it wasn't just the things you said and did, but the things you had. You had the friends, the attention, the everything. I grew up being the backup friend because of you. I was their last option. It never ended either. It didn't matter how old we were, or what circles we ran in. They all seemed to prefer someone else but that all started with you.

I learned from you how to be silent. I learned to sit in the background or risk it all blowing up at me. I still remember the feeling of being forgotten like it never left. Maybe you didn't try to draw in attention like you did, but they were a moth to your flame and I was left in the dark. I've gotten so used to being alone, primarily because of you. I was so close, so many times, to having real friends. But you were better and they always left me. They never wanted both of us, only you.

"You would be so beautiful if you wore makeup". You had said to me one afternoon around sixth grade or so. I don't know what you meant by it, all I know is what it did to me. I told you I just didn't like makeup. But that's not really true. I don't like the way it makes me feel. I don't like that I want to hide behind it, that I hate what I see.

I never wanted to be you, I just wanted to be a version of myself that people actually cared about.

There is so much shit you said and did to me that's left me a broken person. But you've grown. You've changed. You're someone I believe in now, but that doesn't stop the pain. It doesn't stop what haunts me everyday. But I want you to know that while I will never forget any of it, I do forgive you.


	2. Dear Ms.H.

Dear Ms.H.,  
A middle school English teacher should know a fucking cry for help like that. I was practically screaming at you through my writing everything that I was feeling and you never NEVER commented on it.  
There is so much you should have done. You should have talked to me about it. You should have called my mom. You should have had the counselor talk to me. You should have written back on them that there was someone who would listen to me, but the only marks on them were spelling and grammar corrections.  
You confirmed to me that I was alone. Unwanted. Uncared for. I turned in a fucking suicide note for fucks sake! You commented on that one. You said I captured the anger of the protagonist perfectly. IT WAS ME YOU DUMB FUCK!


	3. Dear B.B.,

Dear B.B.,

I don’t know what the fuck happened to you. We use to hang out at your grandma’s house almost every day in the summers and we’d actually act like friends. At school, you had other friends, better friends. And that was fine by me. But I liked hanging out with you in the summer. I liked that you taught me how to throw a football and I liked that you treated me like a fucking person. But then you stopped.

You started going to your dad’s over the summer instead of being babysat by your grandma. We stopped hanging out in the summers and beings we weren’t friends outside of that we just kind of stopped altogether. It was a shitty time though. My friends had all moved so far away and then I lost you too.

Slowly you started to change and honestly it’s like that little boy I played with never existed at all. Now you’re all grown up. A homophobic dick who thinks he’s better than everyone. Do you know how hard it was to listen to you in civics? To listen to you argue that gays shouldn’t marry, how it’s gross and unnatural. It was hard for me to sit back and listen to what you really thought of me. I wanted to argue, but honestly I just didn’t have the fight left in me. 

Senior year you made a joke. “We all made it without killing ourselves”. It was met with laughter, and you didn’t see the angry tears in my eyes or the way I was digging my nails into my palm. You didn’t know that I had tried very very hard to not make it to graduation day. 


	4. Dear B.D.,

Dear B.D.,  
I almost spilled it all to you once. I almost told you everything. I don’t know why, maybe I was just tired of it all. I didn’t though, I told you I was fine and you didn’t press. I didn’t necessarily need it to be you, but I needed someone to call bullshit. But you didn’t, why would you? We weren’t friends. I wanted to be, you seemed nice enough for awhile. Looking back, maybe you just weren’t quite as shitty to me as the others and I glorified that. Or just a shared love of music maybe?  
I was never all that mad at you, just bitter I suppose. You had gotten so close to breaking down my walls, even if you hadn’t meant to. It was just one well timed, “are you sure you’re okay?”. But the truth is, I knew you didn’t really care. You were just trying to be nice. There’s a lot over the years that made me upset with you, but then every once in awhile you would do something just barely nice so you’re not really on my shit list, but still someone I associate with such a shitty time.


	5. Dear J.B.,

Dear J.B.,  
“Why is it only the crazy people?” You asked your friends one day in the hall before science class. The same day that a rumor went around that I liked you. I didn’t by the way. I only told her I liked you so she would stop asking to see the shit I was writing in my notebook. It was a suicide letter in case you’re wondering.  
And yeah, maybe I am a little crazy, but you had no right to say it. To you, I was nothing more than someone who was quiet and withdrawn. You didn’t know a thing about my crazy.   
P.S. Fuck you, I’m a goddamn catch!


	6. Dear R.E.,

Dear R.E.,  
What the hell did I ever do to you? We couldn’t have been older than third grade when you decided to hate me. Maybe it was influenced by how others treated me, but I had done nothing to you. Our class was incredibly small, but in the fourteen years we knew each other I don’t think we’ve ever actually spoken. You had nothing to judge me on, and yet you did.


	7. Dear S.F.,

Dear S.F.,  
“We can be friends, but no one can know”. Is what I think about when I think about you. I think about all the times I would spend the night and you would tell me not to tell anyone. I think of when I went with you to get your first cell phone and you told me not to tell anyone that you took me with. I wonder if you knew how much that hurt. How much it still hurts. I was nothing more to you than a way to pass the time. I felt like a dirty fucking secret, like you were ashamed of being my friend.  
I still wonder if I’m good enough for people. It keeps me up at night wondering what they think of me. Are we really friends or is it just in my head? Am I just as important to them as mindless games on their phone, nothing more than a way to pass a few minutes here and there.  
You told me things that you were too afraid to tell her, but somehow that still didn’t make us real friends. You still only wanted her. I was there for you without question or judgement, but you would hardly acknowledge me at school. Did you know how often I left your house feeling worse instead of better? Feeling more alone?


End file.
